


Birth of the Boneless

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Series: Sons [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: From Aslaug's point of view, immediately following the birth of her youngest son, Ivar.





	Birth of the Boneless

The birthing of him had nearly killed her, and yet she knew from the moment Siggy laid him on her breast that she would die a thousand times to bring him forth. At the birth of each of her sons, when she looked into their slowly blinking eyes for the first time, she had seen flashes of the men they would become. Ubbe, strong and kind and steady. Hvitserk, laughing beside his brother Bjorn on a sun-drenched sea. Sigurd, a warm smile and the music of a ute. And this tiny one before her, blue eyes piercing from a mask of blood, even his teeth stained crimson. The fiercest of her sons.

His name came to her like the norns whispering in her ear as they sometimes did in dreams. Ivar the Boneless. He was squalling in fury, rooting for her breast, and a few drops of the thick first milk came forth at the sound. She guided his small head gently with a shaking hand, and the relief was immediate when he began to suckle her. She laid back against the pillows, relaxing, her hand stroking the small warm back. 

Her eyes wanted to close, but she found they could not. All she could do was stare at her youngest son. She knew in her bones he would be the last child she would bear; she had come too close to death. She could not leave her sons behind, could not entrust the raising of them solely to Ragnar. Boys need the nurturing of a mother to become their strongest. 

Her hand wandered slowly down the tiny body; breath hissed in over her teeth when she reached the boy's legs. Twisted. He was deformed, she had known he would be, tried to warn Ragnar and he had not listened to her. Anger burned through her quickly; she extinguished it. The boy was special. Doomed to a life of pain, but also to a life of glory and bloodshed. He would be the most Viking of her children, the one most worthy of being descended from Odin himself. 

She ran one gentle finger over the legs, profoundly sad. A son of her blood, cursed to a life of pain. It was enough to shatter the hardest of hearts, to move the bravest of men to tears. But she would piece her heart back together, to help her son become strong. He would need her, far more than her other sons. He would be stronger than most men. His pain would not break him. It would forge him, become the fire that would temper him and make him the strongest of the race of Odin. 

Ivar released her breast, his small stomach sated, and nestled into her chest with a content sigh. She knew this was the happiest she would see him in a long while, already dreaded the screams of suffering that would come to plague her every hour, even following her into sleep. The betrayal in the eyes of her older sons would wound her, as she turned her attention yet again from them to their boneless brother. 

As she shifted her arm to cradle him better, she knew these were choices she would stand by, would gladly sacrifice anything else to give her son Ivar the smallest measure of comfort. After all, the birthing of him had almost killed her. Bringing forth one so powerful required a grave sacrifice on the part of the mother. Her life was now his; Freyja had spared her only because her son would need her. She would die a thousand times to bring him forth.


End file.
